


And I Find It's All Our Waves and Rays

by missgoalie75



Series: Coffee Shop Shenanigans [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU] Jesse St. James frequents to same coffee shop and Blaine Anderson is his usual barista.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Find It's All Our Waves and Rays

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Title is from "Forks and Knives (La Fête)" by Beirut; various lyrics are accredited in the fic and listed in the end notes.

Jesse St. James has planned this in his mind perfectly: he'll have his one overly expensive, but satisfying coffee shop that he'll constantly frequent as he's climbing to the top and eventually, when his name is shining over Manhattan, that coffee shop will create a drink and name it The St. James…Something. It could be a flavored latte or mocha or macchiato – he's not too picky. This is a true act of altruism at its finest, if he does say so himself.

It takes him a few different coffee shops to find _the one_ , but he eventually settles for the rather unoriginally titled 'SoHo Caffeine,' located between two useful subway stops. He had hoped for something a little quainter, but their drinks are really the most superior. He'll be damned if a drink is named after him and it tastes like bitter shit.

Even so, he had expected that this coffee shop would at least place unobtrusive music of the annoyingly hipster variety and not… _Colbie Caillet_.

He's pretty sure the bastard who put that on is breaking some sort of ridiculous hipster code and will either be lectured on the art of picking bands that only five people have heard of (for good reason), or just be given swift kick to the head with canvas slip-ons.

"Hello, what can I get you?"

Jesse's eyes widen in surprise at this cheery greeting because the last time he was here, the barista pretty much grunted at him through the entire exchange. At least that was expected though, not _this_.

He eyes the guy's curly hair, navy bowtie, and no doubt atrocious sweater vest underneath the dark green apron with the perfect amount of distaste. "I'll take a small, soy latte with a _pinch_ of cinnamon."

The barista's eyes light up a little. "Will that be for here or to go?"

"To go," Jesse answers. As if there are any other options – how does one expect to enjoy the New York experience in a coffee shop while listening to this bubbly music with lyrics like _I've been waiting all my life and now I found ya, I don't know what to do, I think I'm fallin' for you_.

Undeterred, the barista nods, happy smile still in place as he goes off to make the order. Jesse follows the strange flourish the barista puts into his movements as he makes his order. It's quite admirable, to take such a mediocre, boring job and adding a little pizzazz to make it interesting. He keeps a careful eye on him as he adds cinnamon at various intervals, which has him wary. He only said a _pinch_ , damn it.

"That will be three-eighty-five, please," the barista states, pushing the cup towards Jesse.

Jesse sniffs as he picks it up, fully prepared to return the order and demand it to be made again for free, but to his surprise it's actually kind of…perfect.

Schooling his expression into one of indifference, he hands over a five and waits for his change. The barista smiles out of triumph and returns the change – coins first, bills after – and says, "Have a nice day!"

Jesse doesn't say anything as he leaves, but he finds himself humming happily as he walks to the downtown 6-line stop.

*

Being in New York City for the past four years wasn't part of the original plan. Jesse was supposed to be in UCLA for four years, and during that time word of his talent and brilliance would reach the east coast, where he would fly in and take auditions by storm.

By the time he was twenty-three, he was supposed to be leading a play that would surely be nominated for Tonys. And maybe he would be too, but he wouldn't expect a win; perhaps people would write articles the following morning on how he was gypped and thus begin his career.

He didn't plan on failing out of UCLA and having to transfer to NYC too early to a school that would almost ruin him totally.

(Oh well, at least it would make for good _drama_ for his memoir, which he still plans to write at the tender age of fifty.)

*

Jesse is relatively lucky for a 'struggling actor' – he lives on the border between SoHo and Greenwich Village in an apartment paid for by his parents ("You don't want to share living space with a bum from the streets," his mother said as she lovingly ran her bony fingers through his hair).

Scratch that, he _is_ lucky.

Still. Sometimes he wonders if he should give it up for a more _traditional_ life as a struggling actor.

(But then he remembers sharing a bathroom like in college and he promised himself _never again_.)

*

"Small, soy latte with a _pinch_ of cinnamon?"

Jesse narrows his eyes at the barista – same as the one two days ago – who seems to be holding back a laugh. How _dare_ this server actually _mock_ him.

"No," Jesse sniffs, "I'll have a large green tea – two bags."

"Coming right up."

Jesse pulls out his debit card because he forgot to take out cash yesterday like he planned.

"You know I've never known someone who had a last name with a prefix," the barista murmurs after he hands the tea to Jesse and takes the debit card.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, that's not entirely true – I mean, I've met people who had last names with prefixes like 'Mc' and 'O'.' I just mean, 'St.' isn't something I see in last names a lot," the barista continues as if Jesse never said anything.

Jesse wonders how this guy hasn't been fired yet for completely clashing with the surrounding atmosphere. But then he takes note of his sweater and bowtie and wonders if the hipsters find it _so_ ironic, wearing something right out of a Brooks Brothers catalogue.

"What can I say, I'm one of a kind," Jesse answers as Blaine hands back the card with an easy smile on his face.

Maybe the barista is on drugs – that's a plausible explanation, even though he really seems to be too clean-cut for that sort of thing.

"Have a nice day!"

"You too," Jesse says without thinking before he rushes out of there.

Jesus Christ, Almighty, what the _hell_.

He's walked a block when he realizes that he doesn't know the barista's name, which is extremely irritating.

(He's in the subway when he realizes that being extremely irritated about something as trivial as not knowing the weird barista's name is not conductive to anything beneficial in his life.)

*

He wonders if the barista (he refuses to capitalize it like a name because he _will_ find out without outright asking him) knows that this situation drives Jesse crazy, because every time the barista hands Jesse his order, he always has to add, "There are you, Jesse," or, "Have a nice day, Jesse!" in that cheerful voice that really belongs to a salesclerk at the goddamn Gap.

At least he hasn't heard Colbie Caillet since that first day.

*

"So, did you find the perfect coffee shop yet?" Rachel inquires over sushi, a competitive glint in her eyes.

"Perhaps," Jesse answers in that evasive manner that he knows annoys her. He's rewarded with a pursed mouth and narrowed eyes.

"You totally did – where is it?"

"What, so you can steal it from me? I think not."

She scoffs, stabling her vegetable roll. "That would be pretty out of my way seeing that I live more than twenty blocks away from you."

"Oh, you'd make it work, I'm sure."

She smiles at him. "True."

They eat in silence for a bit, savoring it since even though this meal is outside both of their budgets, especially Rachel's, they like to pretend every other week that this is the norm.

"What about you?"

"Unfortunately not – one coffee shop actually put _skim_ milk in my latte – how can you make such a grievous error? Luckily I put up so much of a fuss that I got the man fired because honestly, if I wasn't able to tell the difference between soy and skim, I could've gotten seriously ill." She shakes her head. "I thought these hipster coffee shops would be better about this sort of thing."

He doesn't point out that the last time he was at his coffee shop, the barista kept muttering, "Soy, soy, soy," under his breath when someone ordered a soy cappuccino before him.

So he changes the conversation and asks how her auditions are going, hoping to find out something new for himself because frankly, it's slim pickings out there.

*

Jesse stares at the chalkboard where there's a colorful, handwritten list of drink and food options. He's not in the mood for his usual order, so he wants to try something different; it's just too bad that the options are, honestly, overwhelming.

"May I suggest the dulce de leche soy latte?"

Jesse looks down at the barista, who has a patient smile on his face. "Isn't that a little sweet?"

"I think it has more of a spice to it, but yeah."

Jesse is surprised to find that he _really_ likes that charcoal gray sweater the barista has on – it does nice things for the figure and it looks soft to boot. "Fine. I'll try it."

"If you don't like it you don't have to pay for it."

"Naturally."

The barista works smoothly, muttering "soy" until he pours the milk and puts it away. Jesse drums his fingers against the counter, humming his next audition song.

"Are you humming 'Some Enchanted Evening'? I used to watch that all the time when I was younger," the barista asks as he puts a cover over the cup. "Used to force my brother Cooper to watch it with me. I think he was disappointed I wasn't asking him to watch R-rated things or even _Grease_ more often."

Jesse raises an eyebrow as he picks up the drink. "I'm singing it for an audition on Thursday."

"Really?" the barista's eyes are actually shining. "I miss performing – I was going to do it, but I changed my mind my sophomore year."

Jesse takes a sip and is surprised by how much he likes it. The barista beams at him and okay, that's a Vocal Adrenaline expression if he ever saw one, wow.

"So what do you do then?" Jesse inquires because if he can't ask for his name, he's damn well going to ask about anything else.

"I'm studying to become a musical therapist – I'm in my first year of grad school," the barista answers.

Huh, a future quack then.

The door chimes with incoming customers and Jesse pulls out his wallet and hands the barista a five. "Keep the change."

"Have a nice day!"

"You too."

Well, at least Jesse can claim that the barista is not a total stranger, although the fact that he knows his brother's name and not the barista's is laughable.

*

" _Hello, Jesse Darling! It's your mother – your father and I want to pay you a little visit this weekend! There's a new opera opening this week and we want to see it since the cast is absolute perfection. So clear your schedule so we can take you out to a nice meal – puss, puss!_ "

Jesse grimaces at his phone, tempted to call back and say, "You're not Swedish and you saw that _one_ movie with Alexander Skarsgård doesn't mean you're cultured."

But he just pencils in his parents into his planner and adds 'copious amounts of alcohol' to his shopping list.

*

From Jesse St. James:  
 _My parents are coming in this weekend – please hide. Preferably in a borough that's not Manhattan since they like to pretend the others don't exist._

From Rachel Berry:  
 _I can't!! I'm meeting a dancer for lunch on Saturday – this is the first date I've been on in three months!!!_

From Jesse St. James:  
 _You're not going to get laid after a LUNCH DATE – reschedule and GET OUT._

From Rachel Berry:  
 _God why do you have to be such a jerk??_

From Jesse St. James:  
 _Would you rather sit through another three-hour dinner involving wedding plans that are not going to happen?_

From Rachel Berry:  
 _…I'll make it work._

From Jesse St. James:  
 _Your sanity preemptively thanks you._

From Rachel Berry:  
 _Yeah, yeah, call me afterwards and I can buy you a drink._

From Jesse St. James:  
 _Beat you to it – just bought a bottle of gin for myself._

From Rachel Berry:  
 _I knew that we were friends for a reason – ttyl xo_

*

Jesse meets his parents at the Waldorf Astoria on Friday morning and his mother kisses him on both cheeks and his father shakes his hand. They eat brunch in the hotel and his mother orders mimosas while Jesse considers ordering shots because his mother's rampant alcoholism puts him to the bottle.

After their meal he goes back to his apartment to memorize lines while his parents go shopping – he has an audition for a small theater production company in Queens and the commute will be a _bitch_ if he gets a part.

They stop by his apartment to pick him up for an early dinner before their opera, and since they have to walk a few blocks to catch a cab going the right direction, they pass by SoHo Caffeine.

Jesse looks through the glass and there's the barista, already looking at him and returning the gaze with a happy wave. Jesse nods back, which catches his parents' attention.

"Who's that, darling?" his mother asks, her eyes wide and shiny. He thinks she had about two more drinks after brunch.

"No one – I just go there for coffee a lot."

"He _waved_ at you – is he your friend? Oh Jesse, you _must_ introduce us!"

Oh no.

Before Jesse can properly convince them that they don't have time before their dinner reservations (even though they do since they're wasting money on a cab ride for thirty blocks), they walk into the coffee shop and head straight towards the barista. Jesse's tempted to tell him to run, but he _still_ doesn't know his name; he doubts shouting, "YOU, BARISTA, RUN!" in his most dramatic fashion will spur any action.

"Hello!" Jesse's mother chimes, giggling unnecessarily and Jesse's rethinking the two-drink estimate.

"Hello, can I get you anything?" the barista greets them, polite as ever.

" _Jesse_ , introduce your little friend!"

Jesse rolls his eyes before realizing, _fuck_ , he can't introduce him because _he doesn't know his fucking name_.

"Ah, these are my parents, James and Jeanette," Jesse stutters in a rare moment of state fright because this is going to be embarrassing to the point of no recovery; there's no way to explain how you don't know a friend's name.

The barista quirks his head to the side and the corner of his mouth twitches. Jesse knows _exactly_ what the barista is thinking and hopes that he doesn't mention it because the last thing he needs is to listen to his dad rant about it over dinner. He's sure one too many of those rants drove his brother Justin to being a user of multiple drugs. That and the fact that he's severely less talented than Jesse is.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Blaine Anderson," the barista, _BLAINE ANDERSON_ , says, managing to wink at Jesse as he holds out his hand for Jesse's parents to shake.

Damn he's good.

(Honestly though, Jesse has to exert a lot of self-restraint so not to slowly fist pump, fall to one knee and then punch the air in pure victory right there in the coffee shop. _Blaine Anderson_.)

"Okay, shouldn't we head out? Dinner reservation – no need to keep the man from his job," Jesse says to his parents, ignoring the fact that there's a lull in the coffee shop and that if they leave now, they're going to be ten minutes early.

"Oh, we have time for a quick cup of coffee!" his mother chimes with a too-wide smile. "Could I get some cognac in mine?"

"I'm afraid we don't serve alcohol," Blaine answers in a neutral tone.

"Ah, pity."

"We'll take three coffees to go," Jesse says to Blaine.

"Coming right up."

"What a polite young man," his father commends in a quite tone.

"He's just _precious_ ," his mother adds, loud enough that he's sure Blaine overheard.

If Jesse were a lesser man, he'd blush. Instead, he just adds to the number of drinks he will consume tonight in order to forget this event ever happened.

(Although he did get the barista's name without asking, so there's that.)

*

On the way back to his apartment after dinner, he looks into the coffee shop and sees someone else at the cash register. 

*

From Jesse St. James:  
 _My apartment, thirty minutes, bring olives. A LOT OF OLIVES._

From Rachel Berry:  
 _That bad?_

From Jesse St. James:  
 _They spent the appetizer grilling about your whereabouts and I'm pretty sure my mother was about to pull her engagement ring off her finger for me to give to you._

From Rachel Berry:  
 _It's too bad it won't be mine unless we can't find anyone for ourselves – that would certainly be a perk to our marriage._

From Jesse St. James:  
 _Lots of olives and be here in twenty._

*

"And they just stormed right in and I'm pretty sure my mother was about to lunge over the counter so she could stick the Cabbage Patch Baby into her Birkin bag," Jesse laments on his third martini, fuzzily wondering how, exactly, this became his life.

"I doubt your chances with the cute barista are finished," Rachel says, sounding a lot more sober than she should be.

"You better finish that martini in one go, or I'm kicking you out so I can sulk in peace," he says, pointing at her drink.

She sighs, finishing off the drink in three swigs. "Happy?"

"And what do you mean _chances_? I'm not _remotely_ interested – I like that coffee shop, damn it, and I can't go in there knowing that I've embarrassed myself beyond repair. I don't need an employee spouting out stories that don't paint a perfect picture of me when I'm famous."

"You're just gonna have to _nip it in the bud_ – smooth it over tomorrow," Rachel slurs, swaying a little as the alcohol seems to finally hit her.

"Yeah, right," Jesse murmurs, filling her glass and his.

Tomorrow. He can do that.

*

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

He hasn't had a hangover this awful since he and Rachel broke up two years ago.

"Wakey, wakey, Mary Sunshine!" Rachel sing songs from somewhere that's not his bedroom, and yet it's still too loud.

He groans loudly in response. "Leave me to _die_."

"Oh, you'll live – now get your ass out of bed and into the kitchen. You're lucky that I'm making you breakfast even though I ended up on the couch."

Wait what?

He sits up and rubs his eyes, trying to get his brain to work. They _always_ end up in bed together when drinking like this – even if it's just to sleep.

Whatever, he's too tired and shattered to consider the situation further. Besides, Rachel does make the best hangover pancakes, even though he'll never admit it.

*

It's not until about four in the afternoon is he able to leave his apartment and head over to the coffee shop. To his relief, the barista – _Blaine_ – is working and it doesn't seem too busy, so there will be fewer witnesses to this odd event.

Blaine takes one look at him and smiles in a knowing manner. "Large coffee?" he suggests.

Jesse can't even be bothered with countering for his pride and just says, "Please."

While waiting for his order, he realizes that the music is more eclectic than what he's heard on Blaine's usual shifts. In fact, he can't seem to hear any consonants whatsoever in-between the mariachi instruments.

"There you are."

Jesse looks up to the chalkboard above their heads to figure out the price, but Blaine says, "It's on me."

"You don't have to do that," Jesse tells him, pulling out his wallet.

"I insist, friend."

Jesse looks up and there's a teasing smile on Blaine's face, but it's strangely genuine at the same time.

(He vaguely concludes that it's a shame Blaine gave up performing because the guy has potential.)

Jesse sighs, "I apologize on my mother's behalf – for yesterday."

"Oh don't apologize! She was quite nice. I didn't think I'd meet another person who'd order Cognac in their coffee, so that was surprising."

Jesse doesn't know what to make of that, so he just says, "What can I say – she loves her liquor," unable to keep out the bitterness.

"And you," Blaine adds with a soft smile. "There's nothing wrong with your parents wanting you to be happy with friends. Although," there's that teasing smile again, "it's strange to have a friend whose name you don't know."

To his horror, Jesse starts to feel himself blushing a little. "She just assumed –"

"Hi," Blaine says with a chipper smile, holding out his hand. "I'm Blaine Anderson. I can't function in the morning without a medium drip, I always wake up wearing just one sock, and I sneak biscotti during my shifts."

Jesse does his best to hold back a smile because this is so damn dorky, but he doesn't think he put forth his best effort. He takes Blaine's hand and shakes it. "I'm Jesse St. James, my fame is an inevitability, my favorite coffee drink used to be a soy latte until my barista converted me to dulce de leche lattes, and –" – _I seem to actually like you, what even_ – "- I can pull off 'Bohemian Rhapsody' so well that Freddie would be proud."

Blaine raises an eyebrow at him. "Very bold words, Jesse St. James."

Jesse smirks, leaning in a little, admiring the way Blaine's cheeks are turning pink. "Not even the half of it."

Suddenly the song changes to a loud brass number and Jesse can't help but ask, "What the _hell_ is this band?"

"Beirut – they're a band from New Mexico. Their musical arrangements are really fabulous," Blaine gushes and yeah, if Jesse wasn't sure about Blaine's sexual orientation, he most definitely is now.

"He's American? He actually speaks _English_? Bullshit. I don't understand a word of this."

"I had to look up a lot of the lyrics," Blaine admits, "but sometimes the words don't matter – the instruments are beautiful on their own."

Jesse scoffs.

Someone coughs behind him and Blaine says, "I'm sorry, sir, what can I get you?" to the surly-looking hipster who really is too old to be a hipster; the man has gray hair, for God's sake.

"I'll see you around, Blaine," Jesse says.

"Have a nice day, Jesse," Blaine chimes with a wide grin on his face.

There, now he knows the barista's name can move on with his life and not think about the guy in his free time.

*

Except that's not exactly what happens.

He doesn't get a callback, but he gets offered to audition for two roles, so he spends half his time in that coffee shop so he can have instant access to espresso and coffee. Blaine doesn't always work when he's there, but whenever he does, it's like his stupid smile brightens up the depressingly hipster aroma.

Jesse doesn't really know what to think of that.

(It's becoming a common issue with just about everything pertaining to Blaine.)

*

"Jesse."

Jesse pretends to ignore Rachel sitting across from him.

" _Jesse_ ," she repeats again, her voice louder. "You can't just pretend I'm not here! We have to talk about this!"

"No we don't," Jesse retorts rather petulantly.

"We can't just ignore the fact that I overheard you have a very vivid sex dream about a certain _Blaine_ ," Rachel continues, this time in a much quieter voice, even though it feels like she's _screaming_.

"Yes we can. I'm doing a wonderful job of it – looks like your acting skills are getting rusty with not having auditions in over a month," he snaps.

"No need to be nasty," she quips, barely fazed, "I know you don't consider yourself to be in the middle of the Kinsey Scale –"

"I'm _not_ bisexual, Rachel; I'm a straight guy who doesn't mind wandering off the narrow path every now and then."

"Okay, well you're totally veering off the 'narrow path' and skipping on the Rainbow Trail, then."

He rolls his eyes and focuses on the condensation forming on the outside of his water class.

"Is this the barista guy? The one that your parents thought was your friend at the time even though he wasn't, but now _is_ your friend…who you happen to be having dreams of a sexual nature about?"

He glares at her and purses his lips, which is enough confirmation for her.

"I have to meet him," she declares when the waitress comes around with their sushi.

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do. I have to approve of him myself."

"You're not my mother, who already likes him," he counters.

"No, but I'm pretty much your future wife if neither of us finds true love, so."

He grimaces, pulling apart his chopsticks and cursing when they don't split evenly. He _hates_ that.

"You can't stop me, you know. I'll find it."

He pointedly ignores her and begins eating his lunch.

(Although he checks every now and then to make sure she isn't following him home – he wouldn't put it past her since her determination frightens him sometimes, and he pretty much defined determination.)

*

The next day he goes into the coffee shop a lot later than he planned, having gotten tied up on the phone for hours trying to convince his stupid brother Justin that rehab is a _good_ thing.

(Justin actually gave in to alcohol addiction in an _inappropriate_ way that he couldn't get away with, unlike their mother.)

So Jesse is surprised and ridiculously relieved that Blaine has this shift and that there's only a three-person group in the back, focused on a group project by the looks of it.

Blaine however seems to be reading behind the counter, so Jesse has to clear his throat to get him to look up.

"Oh!" Blaine exclaims, eyes wide and lips stupidly pink as he bites his bottom one out of sheepishness. Jesse catches part of the title and it's something by Charles Dickens.

Nerd.

"School work?" Jesse ventures.

"Nope, for pleasure. Uh, what can I get you?"

"Actually, I came here to warn you."

Blaine quirks his head to the side. "Warn me?"

"Yeah, if a short, very loud girl comes in here wearing an offensive sweater or high socks or both, just hide. Run away. Don't approach her."

A slow smile grows on Blaine's face. This isn't the reaction Jesse was hoping for. "That would be very rude of me to refuse servicing a customer."

"Trust me, she's not going to want a coffee."

Blaine blinks at Jesse without much of an expression on his face. "…Does she want biscotti then?"

Jesse rolls his eyes. "She's just trying to destroy my life – avoid her."

"Okay," Blaine says, even though Jesse's pretty sure he's just humoring him. The _nerve_. "Would you like to order something?"

"No," Jesse lies, which makes Blaine _smirk_.

(Oh Jesus, why is that…kind of adorable and…)

"I'll get your usual."

*

"Do you like this song?" Blaine immediately asks when Jesse walks inside, busy with someone's drink order.

Jesse pauses, taking in the ukulele and the so-called American slurring his words. "No."

Blaine sighs. "I will find a Beirut song that you'll like – everyone likes at least one."

"You've already tried out five other songs. At this rate, I'll buy you a _tray_ of those chocolate chip biscotti you sneak every other minute if you can find _one_."

Blaine's eyes light up as he returns change to a customer. "Deal."

"But if _I_ win, I get free coffee orders for a week."

"Fine by me. Only because I know I'm going to win," Blaine teases.

"Doubt it."

"We'll see."

Jesse would definitely go on longer, but someone makes a comment to stop flirting because he has a meeting to make in ten minutes.

(He wasn't _flirting_ – he was just… _fuck_.)

*

If there's one thing Jesse St. James absolutely _despises_ is being caught off-guard, so when he walks into _his_ coffee shop and sees _Rachel_ leaning forward on the counter, laughing loudly with one foot in the air and Blaine smiling along with her, he's more than little pissed.

"Oh, _Jesse_!" Rachel exclaims, her grin too wide as she waves him over. "I've just been talking with _Blaine_ here – why didn't you _tell_ me he could sing?"

Jesse stares at Blaine. "Yeah, I've heard he's an ex-performer."

"Well, you just missed us winging 'Tonight' from _West Side Story_ – you may have competition for being my go-to duet partner!"

Blaine smiles. "She is very talented," he admits.

"Oh, don't say that, you'll inflate her ego even more."

Rachel slaps his arm. "Don't be jealous, Jesse! Lionel Richie's catalogue is totally for us alone."

Jesse pretends to be unimpressed even though he's a bit relieved because "Hello" is _theirs_ , damnit, even if they're not a couple anymore.

"It's just too bad you don't have a stage or an open mic here," Rachel adds, pouting as she looks around, as if she'll magically find a space for one.

"I've _tried_ , believe me, but the boss isn't having it," Blaine laments. "I'd love to perform my melancholic, Sara Bareilles-inspired cover of 'Yellow,' but all forms of Coldplay have been banned."

"Good riddance," Jesse mutters.

Blaine gasps, bringing a hand to his heart. "How dare you."

"Overrated."

" _No_."

Blaine points at him. "I will change your mind one day."

"Oh, like you're going to find a Beirut song for me to like? I've heard Coldplay's stuff for years and I can't get into it. Besides, I'm glad there's _some_ form of standard here, even if you can get away with playing _Colbie Caillat_ , which I still don't understand how."

Blaine smiles mysteriously. "I shall never give away that secret."

"Okay, well…I'm going to go, but I'll be around again! We're _so_ going to have a karaoke night if my collection of Barbra LPs depends on it! Actually no, nothing is worth risking that, not even your life, Jesse," Rachel considers, patting Jesse's arm.

"Now I don't need to ask which you'll save from a fire first," Jesse says with a roll of his eyes. "Beat it."

Rachel smiles at him fondly and squeezes his arm (such abuse it's been suffering from within the last fifteen minutes) before walking out.

"She's _nice_ ," Blaine says once Rachel is outside.

Jesse sighs tiredly. "She's my best friend," he admits with a shake of her head.

"Hopefully she likes me – she seemed very determined to get a good grasp on my personality."

Jesse's phone buzzes in his back pocket and he immediately knows who it is.

From Rachel Berry:  
 _JESSE HE IS ADORABLE AND IF HE WASN'T GAY I'D SNATCH HIM MYSELF GO HAVE GAY BABIES WITH HIM._

From Rachel Berry:  
 _HE'S SMART AND CHARMING AND POLITE AND YOU CANNOT DO BETTER THAN THAT. EXCEPT ME. SO EMBRACE THE OTHER PART OF YOUR SEXUALITY AND GET ON IT._

"Oh, she likes you," Jesse tells Blaine off-handedly, glad he's able to school himself into a poker face, even if he can feel his cheeks warming slightly.

*

"Bad day?"

Jesse slams a five on the counter. "Can you just get me a large coffee? I have an appointment I need to make."

Blaine eyes him warily for a second before saying, "Yeah, coming right up."

This is the fourth audition in a row that he's been told he's 'not what they're looking for,' that he's 'just like everyone else.' He's Jesse _Fucking_ St. James – winning of four national championship trophies and has played countless leads in dozens of plays. What part of him is _not_ exceptional?

And let's not forget his previously considered _genius_ idea of being a private singing coach to children with wealthy, ambitious parents; those little monsters are without discipline and just _suck_.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Blaine asks as he hands over Jesse's order.

Jesse looks around and sees the shop is pretty empty during its afternoon lull. "I don't need to be part of your _homework_."

Blaine purses his lips. "You know it's not like that."

Suddenly there's a wail coming from the speakers and Jesse _snaps_. "Fine – I'm sick of having doors slammed in my face when I'm frankly one of the most talented people in the auditioning circuit, I'm tired of talentless losers getting callbacks and roles that they don't deserve. I'm ready to _murder_ the small children I'm helping with their off-pitch singing, and so help me god, if I have to hear another moaning and groaning song by this so-called _band_ , I'm going to tear my hair out. Does this talentless wit know what a consonant is?" Jesse continues, choosing to ignore Blaine trying to hold back laughter. "I'd rather listen to the _Colbie Caillat_ that you subject everyone to when you get control of the music."

Blaine hides his face with a hand, laughing without a sound. Eventually Jesse gives up and starts weakly chuckling along with him.

"I'm sorry," Blaine says once he pulls himself together. "I can't imagine how frustrating that must be. And even though I have yet to hear you sing, I'm sure you'll get your break eventually. And do be patient with the children."

Touched, Jesse smiles briefly before sniffing. "Of course I will – I told you, my fame is an inevitability. As for the kids, I can't make any promises." He pushes the five-dollar bill over to Blaine, who takes it and puts it back into Jesse's hand.

"It's on me – hopefully it'll make your day better."

Jesse pockets his money and takes his coffee. "Thank you."

Blaine smiles.

"Oh, and if you want to get a taste of my talent, just look up Vocal Adrenaline, Carmel High, Ohio. I'm a legend in the high school show choir circuit."

Blaine's eyes widen. "Wait, seriously? I know Vocal Adrenaline! I went to Dalton Academy in Westerville," Blaine says excitedly.

"Wait, you're from Ohio?" Jesse asks, shocked and confused. He always just assumed Blaine was from some hoity-toity area like the Connecticut suburbs or some nice town in Long Island.

"Yep, unfortunately."

Jesse wants to talk to him more about it since he really doesn't remember him and he kind of _wants_ to, despite the fact that he very much had a one-track mind in high school and didn't give a fuck about anyone he was competing against, but he really does have a singing lesson to get to and it's across town.

"I have to go, thanks for the coffee," Jesse says lamely.

*

Jesse hits a new low that night: he spends it scouring what he can from Blaine's Facebook. It's difficult since he has a number of things set as private, but he can gather that the kid went to Yale for undergrad and is two years younger than him, not three like he originally thought.

As he's reading Blaine's musical interests (a very, very wide variety – how can you have Kanye West right after _The Music Man_?), he gets a notification in his inbox:

 _Blaine Anderson requests to be friends on Facebook_.

Jesse nods in triumph, glad that he didn't cave to that.

 _Now_ he can properly Facebook stalk the hell out of Blaine Anderson.

*

Two hours later, after watching dozens of his performances, Jesse rubs his face with his hand and mutters, " _Fuck me_." 

*

"I have it," Blaine announces cheerfully when Jesse walks up to the counter after the four people before him have ordered.

It takes Jesse a second to realize what he's talking about. "I'm sure."

Blaine puts on the song and he says, "You have to listen for more than a minute, but you're going to like it."

"Fine."

Blaine prepares his order and Jesse listens, still not liking the guy's voice, although he appreciates the piano with the maracas in the background. Eventually though, about a minute and a half in when the drums and violins join the other instruments does he find himself actually _liking_ it.

"Shit," Jesse blurts before he can stop himself.

"A _ha_! I win!"

"I still hate his voice!"

"Doesn't matter, you like the song!" Blaine starts happily humming to himself as he side steps to the glass case where the baked goods are kept and he crouches to pull out the tray of chocolate chip biscotti. "Does anyone in the line plan on having a biscotti?"

"You should!" Jesse adds quickly. "They're delicious."

"No," a few people in the line bother to answer back.

"Screw you all," Jesse mutters under his breath.

"Sorry, Jesse, I have to take care of the next customer, but if you go off to the side here, you can count how many biscotti are here so I can properly charge you."

"You _suck_ ," Jesse complains, taking the tray from Blaine and moving to a nearby table.

Blaine side-eyes Jesse in a way that makes his heart pound just a little. _Oh_.

Jesse busies himself with counting because seriously, now isn't the time to be thinking along those lines, not when he's about to leave the coffee shop at least twenty-dollars poorer.

*

"What's your favorite?"

"Favorite what?" Blaine asks, munching on one of his biscotti during his break.

"Beirut song. You spent weeks trying to find a song for me – what's your favorite."

"Hmmm…" Blaine looks up at the ceiling in thought and Jesse stares unabashedly because it's _criminal_ how long his eyelashes are. "I think I'll go with 'Scenic World.' The accordion is great and the lyrics, even though they're pretty simple, they manage to convey the complexity of mood shifts. Hold on." He gets up and goes behind the counter. "Sorry, man, it's just the one song," Blaine says to his coworker as he changes the music.

It's weird – Jesse obviously considers himself to be a very musical person – he lives and breathes it. But he's never thought about different instruments like the accordion and how it would sound against a crooning voice.

Blaine comes back and they listen to the song in silence and fine, it's not terrible, but –

" _When I feel alive, I try to imagine a careless life, a scenic world where the sunsets are all…breathtaking,_ " Blaine quietly sings along and his voice is really that much better in person.

Jesse swallows, forcing himself to actually look at Blaine's eyes and not just his mouth. "This one's not too bad either."

Blaine smiles, but this one is more kind and Jesse thinks that he's totally and completely _fucked_.

*

Blaine's reading behind the counter again, this time it's clearly schoolwork, given the large textbook that has 'healing' and 'music' in the title. Not only that, it's probably the most disorganized and truly hipster he's ever seen him: rumpled shirt, a bit of stubble, his hair – which is _really_ curly, that gel really does tame them – a perfect example of bed head and wow, Jesse doesn't want to go there.

"Wow, you look like shit," Jesse states as he puts down some cash. "I'll just take a coffee."

Blaine lets out an annoyed sigh as he grabs a cup and pours him coffee one-handed. "Really – I had no idea," Blaine says, his voice dripping with sarcasm as his eyes barely leave the page as he hands Jesse the drink and takes the cash.

"Yeah, you almost fit in with the hipsters. It's not very professional for a future quack."

Blaine's eyebrows furrow, shutting the cash register sharply. "I'm not getting my doctorate – I won't be a 'quack,'" he responds and he doesn't a lot angrier than Jesse could've expected.

"I usually lump all those careers together – doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists – whatever," Jesse says dismissively.

"They're different."

Jesse raises an eyebrow at Blaine's pursed mouth and holds out his hands in front of him. "Sorry, didn't mean to upset you."

"'Quack' is a pretty derogatory term and I'd rather not be labeled one," Blaine responds testily.

"Hey, I didn't –"

"Do you mind – you're not my only customer here."

Jesse would probably respond with a " _Zing_ " if it actually didn't hurt that much.

*

The next morning, Jesse wakes up with a hangover and cuddling with his Care Bear.

"You must really like him," Rachel says softly, pushing his hair away from his face in a motherly manner.

"Fuck off," Jesse murmurs, hiding his face in his pillow.

*

But the thing about being Jesse St. James, the really fucking awesome thing about being him, is that life always gives him perfect opportunities.

So when he's invited to go to an exhibit at the Guggenheim (that alone wouldn't interest him) that's also doubling as a concert for Beirut, he immediately agrees since the concert is sold out and he can't get another ticket for Blaine.

So maybe they're not 'perfect,' but they're very good opportunities.

*

Jesse enters the coffee shop a week after the incident, a day after the concert and there's no one in line, so he just walks right up and holds out his apology gift.

"Here."

Blaine looks up from cleaning the counter, unable to hide the curiosity shining in his stupid eyes as he takes the bag. He doesn't say anything as he pulls out the record, his mouth parting into a comical 'O' shape.

"You got me the LP of the _Lon Gisland EP_."

Jesse shrugs. "I was forced to see them and this awful art exhibition and I happened to remember that you like that album. Wasn't a big deal."

"They signed it. You got them to sign it."

"It wasn't exactly hard since it's not like they're the Jonas Brothers or anything."

Blaine's eyes meet his and wow, they actually _shine_ on their own. "Thank you. I know I don't deserve it – I was an asshole last week."

"Want to talk about it?"

Blaine smiles and some of the tension in Jesse's shoulders disappear for the first time in a week. "I thought I was supposed to be 'the quack.'"

"I really didn't mean anything by that, you know. It was supposed to be something…nice."

Blaine raises his eyebrows at him and Jesse kind of wants to _die_.

"Do you mean 'affectionate,' Jesse St. James?" Blaine teases and Jesse is pretty sure this is flirting.

"Depends." Not his best line for sure, but it's hard to concentrate with Blaine's face like, a foot away.

Blaine still smiles though and he says, "I had a busy week – school, covering shifts for people, my high school ex is in town and I had to entertain him – not anything dirty," he adds when Jesse raises a judgmental brow at him, "and I just so happened to have a nasty argument with my dad a few hours before you came in, so."

"I take it your dad isn't very supportive of your lifestyle?"

Blaine snorts. "He's not very supportive of anything I do, to be honest. And if he is, he doesn't show it, so."

"I'm sorry."

Blaine shrugs. "It's…not fine, but. It is what it is." He smiles. "Can I get you anything?"

"Surprise me."

*

It's after one too many of Rachel's " _HAVE YOU MARRIED THE HOT BARISTA YET?_ " texts that prompts him to leave his apartment at five minutes to midnight, right before the coffee shop is closing to do something about Blaine because seriously, he can't keep washing his sheets every other day and he wants to go to a karaoke bar and not just sing with Rachel.

So in a perfectly cinematic action, he bursts into the coffee shop, glad he decided to throw on a scarf today to add to the effect, but he almost overbalances with his sudden stop when he realizes there's a guy leaning in towards Blaine, a smirk on his face that Jesse would have to describe as 'predatory.' Or flirtatious. Jesse is going with the former because he's excellent at seeing what he wants to see.

"Jesse!" Blaine exclaims, a happy (and dare he say relieved?) smile on his face. "What are you doing here?"

 _Well I planned on participating in some sort of witty banter before kissing the hell out of you and rumpling that collar of yours._ "Rachel commandeered my kettle and I need tea. I have an audition in the morning."

The predatory guy turns around and gives Jesse a once over, which Jesse responds with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, Jesse, this is Sebastian. He's an old friend. Sebastian, this is Jesse – my favorite customer. Well, one of my favorites. He's tied with the nice gentleman who sometimes buys be biscotti," Blaine rambles, an admittedly adorable smile on his face as he runs a hand through his hair that's losing its gelled hold.

"You steal biscotti anyway," Jesse responds with a roll of his eyes, holding out his hand for Sebastian to shake. "Nice to meet you."

Sebastian takes his hand in a tight group. "Likewise." He turns to Blaine, a smarmy grin on his face. "Oh and Blaine, 'old friend'? You're too coy. We're exes – the first guy to make an honest man out of me," Sebastian tells Jesse, a challenging glint in his eyes.

Jesse looks over Sebastian's high shoulder towards Blaine, who looks like a deer in the headlights. "Same ex as before?"

Blaine shakes his head a little. "Yes. Sebastian travels and likes to pop in occasionally without any sort of warning. Uh, I'm just going to make your tea – do you want honey in it?"

"No, thanks."

"So what is it you do, Sebastian?" Jesse inquires.

"It's complicated, but I work in French and U.S. trades," Sebastian answers.

"Here's your tea, Jesse."

Just as Jesse's about to pull out his wallet, Sebastian puts up a hand and says, "It's on me," pulling out a sleek wallet and whipping out an American Express Business Platinum Card.

_Asshole._

"We don't take AmEx, Sebastian, you know that," Blaine answers, not amused.

"Oh, sorry, it's automatic," Sebastian says, putting it away and taking out another card.

"It's fine," Blaine answers, rolling his eyes and ignoring Sebastian. "It's on me."

"Thanks, Blaine," Jesse says cheerfully, walking past Sebastian to grab his tea.

"You're welcome. So, uh, I still have to lock up – so I'm afraid I'm going to have to –"

"Oh, by all means, Blaine, you should leave. I can handle the rest," a voice from the back calls out, making no effort to hide a cackle.

Blaine glares at his coworker. "I couldn't possibly –"

"Oh yes, you could. It looks like your hands are full."

Jesse almost laughs at Blaine's obvious desire to flip his coworker off.

"You heard the…dirty man," Sebastian says, a grin on his face. "Let me walk you back to your dorm."

"Actually," Jesse blurts, "I was hoping Blaine could fix my cappuccino maker."

Sebastian raises his eyebrows at him. "Seriously? At midnight?"

Jesse shrugs. "I need my morning caffeine."

"You're asking the wrong guy because the Blaine I know doesn't –"

"Yes! I would be more than willing to help you fix that," Blaine says, interrupting Sebastian. Then he turns to look at him. "And you know I dated Kurt Hummel after you – the guy can fix anything and I've picked up a thing or two." He fiddles with the cash register for a minute, places a set of keys on the counter and says, "Jack, keys are on the counter and the cash register is locked," in a loud voice.

"Turn off the music while you're at it!"

Now that Jesse is paying attention to it, he recognizes the song, but can't quite –

"Of course, it's too famous for you," Blaine mutters as he shuts off right when the singer repeats _have a little faith in me_ (oh, that's the song) a second time.

Jesse laughs and Blaine turns around and gives him a grin that makes his heart stutter in his chest.

"Well, I should go help my good friend out," Blaine says as he takes off his apron and hangs it on a hook, revealing a tight, soft green sweater and pegged jeans.

"I'll see you tomorrow – I'll take you out for lunch," Sebastian says.

Blaine gives him a strained smile as they all walk out of the coffee shop together. "I have a shift and class, but I'll text you."

"You do that." Sebastian winks. "See you later, killer."

And he walks away, leaving Blaine and Jesse alone.

Jesse tries to take a sip of his tea, but he can't seem to stomach it. "I don't have a cappuccino maker," he admits.

Blaine smiles. "I figured. And Sebastian's right – I'm terrible with that sort of thing." From the corner of Jesse's eye, he sees Blaine turn to face him properly. "Rachel really didn't commandeer your kettle, did she?"

"No."

Jesse finally looks over at Blaine, whose expression has shifted, now flushed and intense as he chews on his lower lip, eyes fixed on him and Jesse just _wants_ this guy.

So he takes a step towards him, sneaking his free hand around his neck and pulls his lips toward him.

Blaine's mouth opens instantly and Jesse's blood charges through his veins as their tongues tangle and breaths mingle together in the balmy New York City air. Somehow with Blaine, Jesse's overactive mind that constantly judges and snarks can just shut up, content in the romantic, stupidly cliché nature of _right now_.

Blaine finally lifts his arms and tangles his hands in Jesse's hair, changing the angle; the kiss changes with it and Jesse's blood rushes in a certain direction, which makes him pull away slightly.

"We should stop," Jesse says.

Blaine nods, eyes hooded as he surges for another kiss. "Okay," he answers.

Yeah, that doesn't end up happening until Jesse drops his tea to cradle Blaine's face with both hands and ends up soaking his own feet.

*

It was relatively stupid in hindsight to go back to Jesse's apartment, but Jesse insisted to his own surprise because he doesn't do that – act kind of needy and be vulnerable so soon (even though it's not so soon, is it?), but Blaine is kind of the same, so it's not like he can judge.

Besides, Blaine's the one who pulls Jesse on top of him after he falls onto Jesse's bed, kissing him so hard that he may have made an imprint somewhere on Jesse's psyche.

Why does this dork who dresses like a foxy grandpa and croons in the most endearing way do these ridiculous things to him?

He should probably be more concerned, but he can't muster up the feelings, not when he's falling asleep mid-kiss, too warm with his body pressed against Blaine's.

*

They wake up to Jesse's alarm at half-past five, Blaine groaning into the skin of Jesse's neck and huh, he used to hate this, but it isn't awful now.

They untangle themselves and don't say anything as Jesse picks out an outfit and brings it into the bathroom to change. He finds a spare toothbrush and offers it to Blaine once he's out. Blaine smiles gratefully with half-lidded eyes and fuck, Jesse could actually spend the entire day with Blaine in his bed and wouldn't even get bored, he's pretty sure.

As they leave the apartment, Jesse says to Blaine, "I'll go with you – you look like you'll fall asleep and end up in the heart of Brooklyn."

"Hey, don't knock on Brooklyn," Blaine replies before yawning behind a hand.

"You should probably stay away from Brooklyn before the hipsters really infect your wardrobe."

Blaine raises an eyebrow. "So says the man in the thin scarf and countless number of Moleskins lying about."

"Aren't you the one with the vintage camera and hat collections?"

Blaine attempts to nudge Jesse with shoulder, but he loses his balance out of exhaustion and almost knocks them over. Jesse sighs, barely concealing a laugh as he drapes an arm around Blaine's shoulders. "Come on, you quack."

*

As soon as they sit down, Blaine falls asleep, his head lolling about until Jesse takes pity on him and gently guides it to rest on his shoulder.

Jesus Fucking Christ, he should probably feel some form of embarrassment but.

(It's _Blaine_.)

*

Blaine hugs him in front of his dorm, his face buried into Jesse's collarbone for a few moments.

"I'll see you later. Good luck at your audition," Blaine says with a sleepy smile.

Jesse can't manage a thank you right now, so he just smiles back and watches him until he's inside.

(When Rachel hears about this she's not going to be able to shut up, he groans internally, but his overall happiness just banishes the thought for now.)

*

Jesse goes through his audition on very little sleep, but a sort of deep-seated contentment and happiness that's enough. More than enough, actually – he thinks it was his best audition yet.

So he heads over to the coffee shop, confident to handle this the best way he knows how. There aren't very many people inside and Blaine is the only visible worker there, busy concocting someone's order. Once Jesse makes his way over, Blaine finishes and says to him, "One cappuccino."

Jesse frowns – one day of… whatever this is…and suddenly Blaine has lost his sixth sense? "Nice try, but –"

Blaine nudges the cup a little closer and Jesse looks down, staring blankly at the heart purposefully made into the foam. _Oh_.

Jesse picks up the cup automatically and brings it to his lips. "Did you –"

"Yes, half a sugar cube."

Jesse decides to ignore the smug smile on Blaine's face and takes a tentative sip. He waits until Blaine shifts a little in anticipation before saying, "It's good." He pauses before adding, "Dork," with a fondness he didn't think

The honesty is worth the bright smile he receives in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs referenced in order:
> 
> "Fallin' For You" - Colbie Caillat  
> "Forks and Knives (La Fête)" – Beirut _[While waiting for his order, he realizes that the music is more eclectic than what he's heard on Blaine's usual shifts. In fact, he can't seem to hear any consonants whatsoever in-between the mariachi instruments.]_  
>  "Carousels" – Beirut _[Suddenly the song changes to a loud brass number and Jesse can't help but ask, "What the_ hell _is this band?"]_  
>  "The Penalty" – Beirut _[Jesse pauses, taking in the ukulele and the so-called American slurring his words. "No."]_  
>  "A Sunday Smile" – Beirut _[Suddenly there's a wail coming from the speakers and Jesse_ snaps _.]_  
>  "In the Mausoleum" – Beirut _[Blaine prepares his order and Jesse listens, still not liking the guy's voice, although he appreciates the piano with the maracas in the background. Eventually though, about a minute and a half in when the drums and violins join the other instruments does he find himself actually_ liking _it.]_  
>  "Scenic World" – Beirut  
> "Have a Little Faith in Me" – John Hiatt


End file.
